


Truth In The Words

by Sethrine



Series: Baby, Believe We'll Be Alright [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Baby Holmes - Freeform, Deductions, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Mentions of TRF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 21:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2204226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sethrine/pseuds/Sethrine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> The truth always knew how to find its way out. Sometimes, it took a few, gentle pushes in the right direction.</p><p>"I...I missed you, Sherlock. I missed you so much that it hurt, and I couldn't do anything to make it better."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth In The Words

**Author's Note:**

> Turns out I'll be making these into a series! If you're interested, subscribe to the series so you don't miss an update!
> 
> Once more, please forgive any and all spelling mistakes or any words that were not used properly. I'm an American speaker and have tried my best to make things sound right. Any corrective help is much appreciated.
> 
> Also! If you'd like to make a suggestion for Sherlock's next adventure with Alessa, send me your ideas! I'll be looking forward to them.
> 
> As always, I hope you guys enjoy!

"Repetition is absolutely _dreadful_ , but at the sake of actually teaching you something useful to your mental growth, we'll go through this once more." 

You paused in your dish washing to glance behind you, watching as Sherlock held out a large card before him with a bright, single-colored square in the middle. Alessa was sat just opposite her frustrated father on the floor, eyes wide and focused on the card. 

This had been going on for a good half hour, with Sherlock showing different cards and attempting to get his daughter to both guess what each object or colour was as well as saying the names correctly. 

He had been doing this every day for a week or so, mainly because Greg had no cases for him and he was bored and well on his way into burning a hole into anything he could get his unoccupied hands on. This also gave him some time to bond with Alessa, something of which you had made a point to enforce any time Sherlock wasn't busy with a case or experiment. 

Each session so far was, for the most part, relatively good. Alessa was well on her way to being at a higher level than what her classmates would be when she started school. It was amazing how much she was actually retaining, though you had a suspicion it was because of the genetics from her father that she was able to retain so much in such a short amount of time. 

Today's progress, however, was...not as good as Sherlock wanted it to be. 

"What colour is this?" 

Alessa stared at the card for only a moment before a smile lit up her face. 

"Pepple!" 

"No, try again." 

"Pepple, you! Is pepple! I know pepple." 

Despite his frustration, Sherlock was every bit a gentle teacher, especially after the first day when his not-so-gentle words caused a crying fit that had the detective all flustered and floundering for a way to make it stop. 

"Don't let Papa get to you, sweetheart. Mummy knows you're doing so good!" 

"Don't encourage her mispronunciation habit," Sherlock chastised before his focus was back on the child sat before him. 

He leaned closer towards Alessa, his lips just passing over the top of the card and his eyes all but demanding her attention. 

"Look at how I'm saying it. Purple. Pur-ple. Now, try again." 

"Puhh...puhhwple? Pehwple." 

You laughed at Sherlock's following huff, his eyes cutting in your direction. You could practically feel his frustration from that simple glance, though it only succeeded in making you laugh more. 

"Relax, Sherlock! She's only two and a half. Besides, she already knows her colours, quite well, I might add." 

"If she could learn to pronounce them correctly, then we'd be getting somewhere." 

"She has problems with saying her Rs, which is perfectly _normal_ , by the way." 

Sherlock chose that moment to ignore you and moved on to the next card just as Alessa's eyes began to wander to her new set of blocks with the periodic elements imprinted on them, courtesy of her father's refusal to impede her mind with just alphabet letters. 

"What colour?" 

"Lellow!" 

"You're not even trying anymore," Sherlock quite nearly groaned, releasing the cards to scatter around him and all but throwing himself backwards to sprawl across the floor. Alessa took this as her queue to hobble over to her pile of blocks, having already grown bored with her father's lesson some time ago. 

You finished up in the kitchen and made to stand above Sherlock, smiling at his dramatics. 

"Things not going your way, love?" 

"The card was green," he gave as an answer, looking up at you with a frown. "Your daughter has abysmal focus." 

"I believe you meant to say _your_ daughter has immense focus and knows how to get exactly what she wants. Takes after her father, I'm afraid." 

Sherlock was dangerously close to cracking a smile, if the slight twitch of his lips was any indication. He kept his face neutral instead, giving away no sense of amusement. Of course, you knew better. 

You looked to Alessa and watched her for a moment, a swell of motherly pride filling you up at seeing just how much she had grown. You had fully expected to do the whole parenting thing on your own, especially after...well, after Sherlock wasn't in the picture any longer. Now that he was, however, Alessa looked to be doing even better by way of learning new things. She was comfortable with Sherlock, too, just as you had hoped she would be, and her facination with her father was nearly endless. 

"You! You, is Henum? No, Heellum!" 

"Helium," Sherlock corrected without missing a beat, fully aware that Alessa was talking to him. If he had looked up, he would have seen her pointing at the correct symbol on her blocks for the element and waving the block around with vigor as she spoke to him. 

You smiled and sent some words of encouragement your daughter's way before looking down at Sherlock once more. 

"Let's go out." 

"It's raining." 

"I don't mind," you pushed gently, watching as Sherlock's face contorted into that of confusion. 

"It's cold." 

"Wow, stating the obvious, aren't we?" 

"Isn't that a bit not good?" 

His eyes darted momentarily to the blissfully unaware Alessa as she stacked her blocks before finding your gaze once more. 

"I meant you and me, you genius. Let's go out and, I don't know, just wander around, see where the streets take us." 

"You're being serious?" 

"We've been stuck in the flat for over a week, you don't have any cases going on, and I'm sure Mrs. Hudson would love to watch Alessa for a bit. Besides, I know that big brain of yours is dying to pick apart something other than Alessa's speech pattern, which I am fully aware is something you've been doing." 

Sherlock didn't even try to hide his grin this time as he contemplated your proposal. 

"We leave in an hour." 

 

The streets of London were as cold and damp as ever. Rain had turned into more of a drizzle by the time you had left and the temperature had been on a steady slope downward since the peak of the day had passed. 

Luckily enough, you enjoyed this kind of weather and didn't mind the sparse sprinkles wetting your hair. Sherlock complained, though he claimed it was mostly on your behalf. Getting sick wouldn't do any good for Alessa, whose immune system wasn't quite yet strong enough to fight off colds on a regular basis, but yours was impeccable when it came to the colder seasons. His concern for Alessa was touching, though, and it had you smiling like an idiot for a good five minutes. 

After enjoying a nice, warm hot chocolate at a café you had frequented often during your pregnancy, you and Sherlock had begun heading back to Baker Street, the skies having finally cleared up for the evening. It was nice being away from the flat for a while; the trip outside was well into its third hour, however, and the flickering illumination of the street lights meant it was time to head back to get warmed up and get Alessa ready for bed. 

There was no hurry, however, so you enjoyed the slow walk and what little time you had left with Sherlock all to yourself. 

"What about him?" you asked quietly as you pointed behind you to a man sat on a bench you had just passed, one hand holding up an umbrella overhead as the other held his phone. Sherlock gave a scoff. 

"At least give me a challenge." 

"Oh, c'mon, now! I'm curious. He seemed lonely." 

Sherlock gave an overly dramatic roll of his eyes, though he gave in to your request nonetheless and turned to look over the stranger. 

"Late thirties, with a more hands-on occupation, most likely landscaping judging by his darker complexion and heavy footwear; the shoes are made for any terrain, waterproof, slip-resistant, and heavily soiled. It's hard labour, but he enjoys the work, so the calluses on his hands suggest. His coat is fairly new, though there are bright paint smudges at the pockets and lower seamline; he has children." 

"Children?" 

"Two children; the smudges are small, but take on the form of fingerprints, so, children, most likely boys. He's recently widowed; still wears his wedding ring, even twirls it from time to time, meaning the loss is recent, hence why he's staring at his phone." 

"He's looking at family pictures he took before his wife passed," you finished with a sad lilt to your words, Sherlock nodding in confirmation. 

"Though he looks fairly decent in appearance, little things suggest he's not yet moved on; unkempt hair, sunken face, clothes not quite matching. He's not yet putting forth the effort to find another partner. He's still...grieving." 

"I know that feeling all too well," you said solemnly, your words quiet as you watched the man a moment longer. Sherlock looked to you at the statement, though you missed his gaze and the haze of melancholy hidden within its depths. 

You turned to the detective then with wide eyes, grabbing hold of his coat sleeve with your free hand. 

"What about me?" 

Sherlock almost looked confused for a moment until he recognized what you were implying. 

"There's no need to deduce you-" 

"It's been three years! You haven't made a single verbal deduction about me since you got back. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were avoiding it. Isn't that silly?" 

You pulled the detective closer to one of the street lamps, standing just under its glow to illuminate your frame better under the quickly darkening sky's light and smiling gently. Sherlock still seemed hesitant to go along with this particular request, though it was hard to tell exactly why. 

"Go on. What do you see?" 

"Clean, healthy for the most part, goosebumps from the cold-" 

"Sherlock..." 

"Dark circles under your eyes, indicates a lack of sleep, improper rest of any sort. Why would that be? No immediate clues of one specific occupation, though your clothes are several years old, quite worn though reasonably still in style, which means you haven't been shopping for yourself for some time. Perhaps a sudden change in lifestyle-" 

"A baby, of course," you added with a short laugh. 

"Yes, obviously." 

Sherlock barely contained his eye roll this time and continued with the deduction. 

"It adds up, lack of sleep due to nightly crying fits and a lack of new wardrobe in favor of nappies and proper care for a child. But there's more, isn't there?" 

Sherlock reached out slowly and touched your forehead and just to the side of your eyes, his gloved fingertips almost warm against your cold, nearly numb face. 

"The lines of your face are more pronounced, also seen in new mothers who constantly worry, though you've suffered a loss that keeps you in nightmares and restless during sleep. You startle much easier than before, and heights have become more of an issue than they used to be." 

You were suddenly aware that his deductions had taken a turn to not what he saw at that moment, but what he had been seeing over the past couple of months. He was aware -of _course_ he was aware- of every little thing about you ever since his return, but it had taken a firm push in the right direction to get him to voice them aloud. 

"You were malnourished when I returned, not overly so, but enough that your clothes didn't fit properly. You've gained since then and have filled out accordingly. You've become more social, as well, extending your presence outside close friends and leaving the flat more often. It took its toll, didn't it? My death." 

"You were never dead," you said, voice breaking with your last word. 

"You thought I was. It was enough to contemplate your life, but when you found out you were pregnant-" 

"It was all I could do to keep a little part of you alive." 

There was a long moment of silence before you gave a sniff and a small, anxious laugh. 

"Sorry, I keep interrupting. Keep going." 

Sherlock had a frown etched on his face, but he continued on at your request. 

"The pregnancy, for the most part, was normal, given that total gestation was shy only two weeks. No cesarean scar, so natural birth. From that point, Alessa became your whole center of attention. She kept your mind busy when you needed it most, but it wasn't enough to keep the memory away for long. I know; the mind is a hard vessel to tame, and any chance to linger is an opportunity not missed. You endured, you _survived_. 

"And then I returned, and you let me back into your life without question." 

"Better than the busted lip and bloody nose John left you with." 

Sherlock's lips twitched up into a smile, and you couldn't help but follow up the grin. 

"It was...not a reaction I expected initially. But I was, perhaps, deserving of it. Even from you." 

You gave an almost amused huff and shook your head, almost able to hear the unasked question he refused to voice. 

"I thought about it, hitting you and yelling, demanding reasons to why you would just disappear like that, claim to be dead and all, but I...I realized that, even though I was angry at you, I was so much happier to see you again. It was like everything had fallen right back into place, right where it should be. It's stupid, I know, but I..." 

You looked up at the detective, just now noticing how riveted his ice-blue eyes were to you, as if he were hanging on to your every word. That must be what you and John looked like with his every deduction. 

"I learned that I can make it without you or anyone else's help, I _can_ , but I'd much rather have you there with me. You'll never truly know how happy I am to have you back in my life. I...I missed you, Sherlock. I missed you so much that it hurt, and I couldn't do anything to make it better." 

You wiped at your cheeks quickly, ridding yourself of the cooled tears that had fallen during your confession. It felt good to get that off your chest, to let him know exactly how you felt during his absence. It was a topic you had avoided, a topic you had both avoided, for far too long. 

"But now it's okay, it is," you said with a nod and a sniffle, smiling once more as you took in a deep, chilling breath, "because you're back, you're _alive_ , and that's all I could ask for." 

Sherlock looked to be on the verge of wanting to say something, his lips parting in preparation, but whatever it was never came. You kept your smile anyhow and turned the same way you had been walking before, back to Baker Street. 

"We better get back. Alessa needs a bath before I put her down for bed." 

Sherlock followed behind shortly after, though he maintained a bigger distance than before. It was all fine. You really layed out quite a bit on the table as far as sentiment went, and for someone like the consulting detective, it took time to process it all. You learned this what felt like forever ago, but it didn't hurt any less to take two steps back just when you had gotten him to take that one step forward. 

Baker Street hadn't been too far away, and before long you were entering 221 and marveling in the warmth it exuded. You did like the cooler weather, but you were chilled to the bone and more than ready to sit in front of the fireplace for the remainder of the evening. 

You paused at the base of the stairs, looking over to Mrs. Hudson's door where she was no doubt entertaining Alessa in some way. 

"Could you carry Alessa up?" you asked Sherlock over your shoulder. "My hands are absolutely frozen; I don't want to give her a chill." 

You didn't wait for an answer. Sherlock would either carry her up himself or get Mrs. Hudson to do it. If not either of those options, then you would return downstairs to retrieve her yourself, once your hands had regained some warmth to them. 

With that thought in mind, you made to take your first step up when a firm grip to your upper arm forced you to a stop. You turned to look at Sherlock in confusion, only to have the man suddenly crowd your personal space in a manner that was familiar, almost a memory of a time when things weren't about mending what was broken. 

He smelled of the cold from outside, the fresh scent of rain and faint traces of coffee from the café you had visited earlier that evening clinging to his coat. You were surprised by the warmth of his hands as they came up to cradle your head, one against your neck and the other against a cool cheek. 

He kissed you then, and you were equal parts expectant and unprepared for the gentle caress. 

Normally, you were the one to initiate any form of physical contact, and it was mostly just a peck on his cheek or running your fingers through his curls, most times you being unaware of the act. He never complained; from what you could tell, he enjoyed, even somewhat encouraged the light actions that were so engrained into your being that you had almost instantly picked them back up after three years without him. 

This, however, was the first form of intimate contact he had dared to enact upon you since his return. You didn't know why he hadn't done anything until now, but it was all you could do to breathe during the light action. 

You pressed your lips more firmly to his, almost timidly, afraid he would decide he made a mistake and pull away. This only seemed to encourage the detective closer until your bodies were touching and your hands were clinging to the collar of his coat for dear life. It was an intense connection, one you had craved for so long... 

God, but you missed this. 

When you finally pulled away, you were taking in deep, steady breaths and staring up at Sherlock with absolute wonder, his forehead resting against your own. 

"What...what was that?" 

"I believe it's called a kiss, love." 

You could feel your cheeks practically burn at the endearment. Was this even Sherlock? 

"Yes, but...why?" 

You knew you sounded a bit mental, questioning simple and possibly obvious things, but Sherlock took it in stride. It must have been more than obvious just how surprised you had been. 

"Perhaps I wanted to, or maybe I knew how long you had been waiting for a proper kiss." 

"More like a proper snogging," you commented with a smile, and just like that, you and Sherlock were in a fit of giggles. Once your laughter had settled, the smallest remnant of a smile remained on his lips, yours having widened into a radiant grin. 

"I missed you, too," he said quietly, and for a moment, you're mind went numb with happiness. He didn't have to say it, he didn't, and he knew that. To reveal something he deemed so trivial aloud meant so much to you. 

"Goodness, now you've got me all flustered," you confessed with a giggle, your eyes averting from his momentarily before finding comfort once again in their intense depths. 

"I've a remedy for that," he said with a twitch to his lips, leaning forward and ghosting his lips over yours once more. Before you could respond, however, Mrs. Hudson decided to make her appearance. 

"Oh, dear, have I ruined the moment?" 

"Yes." 

"No," you answered with a short laugh, though Sherlock was not as amused by the situation and pulled away to glare at the older woman. Mrs. Hudson paid him no mind, anyhow, and instead sent a knowing smile your way. 

"I was just curious, since I heard the door and all. I thought you two may have already went up for the night. I can put Lessy to bed, if you like. I know young ones get in the way when you're, well, you know, planning on staying in bed for the night..." 

"Mrs. Hudson!" 

And you thought your cheeks were burning before! 

"Oh, don't get flustered on my account, dear! I was young once, you know. I had my fair share of-" 

"Where's Alessa, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock finally spoke up, thankfully saving you from the woman's recount of her younger and more "spritely" years. 

She instantly turned to look inside her flat and called to the toddler whose footfalls could be heard as she approached. Her curly head poked out from the side of the door, and her eyes instantly lit up. 

"Mumma! Papa!" 

Your whole being froze in shock as the little bundle of energy pushed her way from inside Mrs. Hudson's flat and dashed to where you and Sherlock stood. You looked to the detective and found that he was easily as startled at the toddler's outcry. 

Alessa didn't seem phased by your bewilderment and took to bouncing on her feet as she reached up with her hands. 

"Mumma, Papa, up, please. Up!" 

"Yeah, sure," you said with a nod, glad that your hands were actually warmer than when you first entered the building. As it was, you were automatic in your motions of picking up your daughter and placing her on your hip, too shellshocked to do anything else. She gave a big smile as thank-you and turned to Sherlock. 

"You! I has scaff, Papa? Is peh-pewple scaff." 

You were confused and utterly dumbfounded by Alessa and didn't know what to say, even if she was talking to her father. Sherlock seemed to have more than enough brain function to unwrap his scarf from around his neck and was even able to carefully wind the material around Alessa. She gave a delighted clap of her hands and pulled the soft fabric closer to her, humming contentedly as she ran her small fingers along the deeply colored scarf. 

"Oh, now isn't that just the sweetest thing!" Mrs. Hudson gushed, though you were still having trouble processing what had just happened. 

"She...she just..." 

"It seems so," Sherlock added, almost startling as you sucked in a broken breath. Alessa even jumped and looked you over with wide eyes. Not a moment later, her hands came out and pressed against your cheeks as her little head shook from side to side. 

"No, Mumma! No sad! Papa, tell Mumma no sad!" 

"Oh, baby, Mummy's not sad," you answered with a wavering smile and a joyous laugh, "I'm just so happy that all my happiness wanted to come out of my eyes." 

Placing a kiss to Alessa's nose seemed to assure her of your words, and though she was still a bit wary, her smile returned shortly. With small little dabs, she began pressing Sherlock's scarf to your face to wipe away your tears. 

You glanced over at Sherlock who was content to watch the interaction between you and Alessa as you slowly calmed yourself. He even offered to take Alessa from your hold to allow you another moment to compose yourself. 

"Are you sure?" 

"I can assure you that I won't drop her. I've handled severed limbs heavier than her." 

As completely _off_ as that sentence was, it was strangely comforting. With a small nod, you carefully passed Alessa over to Sherlock who held her securely to his body, her small hands instantly clutching his coat and her curly head resting against his shoulder. The scene was enough to almost put you to tears again, and you had to excuse yourself upstairs to shake off the overwhelming feeling. 

This day might have been the best day you had ever had. There were certainly some unexpected turn of events, with a conversation well overdue and Alessa finally giving Sherlock a fatherly title. It was perfect, all of it, and you were almost sure nothing could top this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Once again, if you'd like to make a suggestion for Sherlock and Alessa's next adventure, feel free to drop a message in my inbox or e-mail me at nikibeme@yahoo.com along with your username so I can credit/gift the idea to you.
> 
> See ya around for the next installment!


End file.
